


Bite me

by shushu_yaoi_lj



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Saying I Love You, Self Confidence Issues, Vampire Biting, bath bombs, intimacy issues, very very minor blood (like a drop), with a little bit of angst but not much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shushu_yaoi_lj/pseuds/shushu_yaoi_lj
Summary: “What the fuck is this?” he asks, showing me a bag with Lush’s logo on it.“A bath bomb,” I explain.“A bath what?”Or a fic about bath bombs, saying what you want and vampire biting.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 34
Kudos: 222





	Bite me

**Author's Note:**

> Please double check the tags before you start reading (although the title kind of gives it away…).  
> Huge thanks to [ Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire/pseuds/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire) and to [ commeunoasis ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commeunoasis/pseuds/commeunoasis) because they are the two most wonderful and amazing betas I could ever ask for. Thank you so much for all your help, suggestions and encouragement.

**Baz**

He emerges from his bedroom yawning, a relaxed look on his face as his hand dives into his tracksuit bottoms to scratch his arse. His wings quiver, tail thrashing behind him, knocking against the door frame. His curls are bouncing around as he comes closer, kissing me on the cheek. He’s so warm and smells lovely, like butter and cinnamon, like home.

“How was your day?” I ask, putting my bags on a chair and getting some shopping out.

“Fine. Work was a bit boring, but Shep came around for lunch.”

Snow said he would cook for me this evening and sent me a list of ingredients to buy on my way back from university. The whole domesticity of this makes my heart beat a little bit faster and I feel something warm in my chest.

I never thought we would get here.

I thought it was all over. After that awful year, when everything fell apart so slowly, unravelling day after day. After America and then Watford.

But he’s still here with me and he’s still mine. And sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, cold sweat on my back, worried sick that this was all a dream. But then I find him sleeping next to me, so warm and soft, and I press closer, burying my face into his chest, grabbing him to make sure he’s real, feeling the need to have every inch of my body touching his.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. His hand touches my elbow, sliding down to my wrist, fingers curling around it.

“Yes,” I whisper, “just thinking.”

“About?” he asks after a few seconds. And that’s new. He would have just let me get away with it until not long ago, but now he wants to know. He wants to make sure that I’m fine, that I’m not creating my own little whirlpools of negative thoughts and then drowning in them. He has started asking the questions that scare both me and him, but that we need so desperately to ask each other.

“Us,” I reply, then gather the courage to be honest, “how lucky I am to still have you. That sometimes it feels like a dream and I’m afraid to wake up.”

I say the last part in a whisper, looking at the floor. Because I still can’t look at his blue eyes when I’m so honest that I feel like I’m baring my heart and a part of me is still convinced it’s going to get slaughtered.

He never knows what to say. He’s still not good with words. But he’s getting better at showing me how he feels.

So his hands wrap around me, under my coat, sliding up my back as he brings me closer, his chest pressed flush against mine. His head tilts up and his lips are on mine, tentatively first, like he’s asking me permission to kiss me (as if I would ever not want Simon Snow’s mouth on me). I slide my fingers through his hair, a small whimper escaping my lips as I deepen the kiss and taste him, melting into his arms and rocking to some non-existent music in my head.

“Urgh, get a room, you two!” Penelope’s voice interrupts our magical moment and I feel Simon smiling against my lips, then moving away, his fingers still moving on me.

“Welcome home, Penny,” he says, “did you have a good day?”

“No,” she mutters darkly, “the Coven meeting was boring and useless. Such a waste of time. What’s for dinner?”

“I’m making a cottage pie,” he says, looking excited and he casts a quick glance at me, checking that I’m okay. I let my lips curl into a small smile and his hands leave me. I miss him already and I can’t help but feel stupid about it.

He checks the shopping bags and I finally take my coat off, then I go hang it in his room. I don’t have to ask him anymore if I can spend the night, but I like to do so. Because I need to make sure that he wants me here. Because a part of me still feels like I’m imposing my presence on him and that he might need some space, so I need to ask for his permission to stay. I still leave my coat here, instead of in the hall, and I feel a little bit braver for this stupidly small gesture.

When I get back to the kitchen, I find him with his face buried in a paper bag, sniffing loudly.

“What are you doing?”

“What the fuck is this?” he asks, showing me a bag with Lush’s logo on it.

“A bath bomb,” I explain.

“A bath what?”

**Simon**

“Snow, please tell me you’re taking the piss. You’ve never heard of bath bombs before?” he asks, incredulous.

“I’m not a posh twat like you,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him. He sighs deeply, like I’m a bane to his existence (when we both know that he lives for these moments, when he gets to be an insufferable know-it-all).

“It’s a ball of soap that you put in the bath. It dissolves and makes the water smell divine and your skin go all soft and lovely,” he explains.

“Sounds well gay,” I mutter, but I have to admit that it smells nice.

“Well, I’m well gay,” Baz says shrugging (I absolutely love it when he does), “would you like to try it?”

I stare at him for a few seconds, confused.

“We only have a shower in our bathroom,” I say dumbly.

“We could go to my flat,” he says, his fingers playing with his jumper, “Fiona’s away for the week.”

His eyes seem to wander around the room, escaping mine. He’s nervous. He’s worried I’m going to say no. That I’m going to chicken out and reject him, like I used to do every sodding time things got real.

“Okay,” I say, “yeah, we can go after dinner.”

I let the words leave my mouth, before I get too anxious about what they mean, about what could happen there. Because we both know that it would be just the two of us there. No Penny, no need to be quiet, no ridiculously thin walls and elderly neighbours who like to complain.

It would just be me and him.

“You can…” he swallows, grey eyes finally meeting mine, wide and a little bit scared, “you could spend the night.”

It must have been hard for him to say that. We’ve been together for over three years. We’ve known each other since we were eleven. But we both still find it so hard to say what we want. What we actually need from each other. He never asks for anything and it’s my fault. Because I made him feel like I didn’t want him for so long.

I thought he was thriving. I thought he was unreachable and so perfect. And he was actually falling apart on the inside, shattering and yet looking perfect. After we both nearly died at Watford, I promised myself that I would never hurt him like that again. I went back to therapy, found a job, asked him to stay every night by my side.

I’m not letting myself lose him again, because he’s the most important thing to me. I thought that was magic, but when it returned to me (so little and so different, compared to the one I had before), I realised that it was Baz all along. And I’ve spent my life fighting against monsters; I guess now it’s time I fight for us instead.

“Yes,” I finally say, “I’ll spend the night.” 

**Baz**

He’s so nervous that he messes up dinner and it ends up a bit burnt. I couldn’t care less; all I can think about is that he’s going to spend the night at my place.

I should tell him that I’m not expecting anything to happen, that he can relax, but Penelope won’t go back to her room and Shep is as loud as usual, so I can’t get a moment with Simon.

“I-I…we…” he says after we’ve finished doing the washing up, his tail bashing against the kitchen cabinets, “we’re going out.”

Penelope stares at us over her glasses, studying him.

“Can I come? I fancy a walk,” Shepard says and his girlfriend elbows him so hard that I fear she might have broken a rib.

“Ouch,” he complains, “what was that for?”

“Snow is spending the night at my place,” I say, trying to sound composed, when I actually have a storm in my stomach.

“Oh,” Shepard says, “good luck, bro!”

Simon’s face is as red as the tomatoes that lie in a bowl on the counter.

That’s not a great start.

**Simon**

“Shall we walk a bit?” he asks as we leave my flat, “I’d like to hunt before we go home.”

“Yes, we could go through the park,” I reply.

It’s October and the nights are getting chilly. It’s already dark and there aren’t many people around. Penny has spelt my wings invisible, because I still don’t have enough control on my magic to do it myself, but I’m slowly getting the hang of it.

Baz slows down and walks beside me, a light scarf around his neck. He’s probably cold and I want to warm him up. I bet he wants me to hold his hand, but he doesn’t have the courage to ask me (he hasn’t put it in his pocket and it’s brushing against mine).

I take a deep breath and decide to be brave. It’s dark and no one can see us.

“Would you like to hold hands?” I ask, “you look cold.”

His hopeful smile makes me melt and I wish I had the guts to do this more often, in the light of day, but I try to tell myself that it’s still something. One little step forward. His hand warms up in mine and I feel the anxiety going down.

Sometimes it feels like I take one step forward and two backwards (my therapist said it’s normal, but it still sucks). Today possibly feels like I’m making an improvement, like I’m trying to make things right. I want to make him happy and I want to be happy.

“I’m not expecting anything, you know?” he says, looking ahead, “just to spend some time with you. Make you a nice bath and try that bomb.”

I feel a lump in my throat when he says he doesn’t expect to have sex. Because I was actually expecting something ( _anything_ , really) and I know he was trying to take the pressure off me, but it also means that he won’t make a move and sometimes I’m too scared to start things.

“Okay,” I mutter and he squeezes my hand reassuringly. I feel the tension eventually easing from my shoulders as we walk through the park and he holds my hand. I whisper, “you can always change your mind, you know?”

I hope he gets it. I hope he tries to kiss me the way he does sometimes, when he can’t take it anymore and he needs me to know how much he wants me. I like it when he presses against me; when he lets his fingers reach for my face and he slides them in my hair; when I end up with him on top of me and his hands are everywhere and his mouth is on mine.

We’ve done some stuff. We’ve seen each other completely naked several times and I’ve touched him all over, making him come with my hands and with my mouth. I’ve let him touch me too, in the dark, and I’ve had a couple of panic attacks the first few times, but thank god he hasn’t given up on me and we’ve been fine lately. But I want more. I want to do more with him and I want him to be able to touch me as he wishes, without the fear of making me fall to pieces.

“Snow, I think I’ve seen a fox,” he whispers all of a sudden and I look at where he’s pointing, but I see nothing in the darkness. Sometimes I envy his vampire superpowers. I also wonder how much he manages to see of me when he holds me in his arms and the lights are off. When his fingers roam over my body and curl around my cock or when he grabs my hips and holds me down to make me lose control with his tongue.

“I’m going,” he whispers and he moves so fast that I barely see him, but then I hear a soft noise and run towards him. There’s no one around and in spite of the traffic nearby I can hear him. I can hear the dry sound of bones breaking and of him breathing hard.

“Can I see?” I ask, for what feels like the hundredth time, because I’ve decided I’ll carry on asking until he finally decides that he’s ready to say yes. Because I want to see all of him.

“Must you always ask?” he mutters, facing away from me.

“I just want to see you,” I try to explain, without insisting too much. I know he has his boundaries and that this is difficult for him. He might be okay with me seeing him naked or touching him everywhere or sucking his cock, but when it comes to him being a vampire, he’s still struggling to accept that side of himself.

“Why? It’s disgusting,” he says, turning his face towards me, his mouth in a thin line, jaw set hard.

“Nothing about you is disgusting,” I simply say, my tail curling around his leg, drawing him closer, “I just want to see all of you. Because you’ve seen all of me, how much of a mess I am and you’ve seen me at my lowest. But you’re still here. And you’re not a mess like me, but I still want to see you and be there for you too.”

“We still match,” he whispers in the dark.

He hesitates for a moment and I think he’s going to turn as usual and just hide from me, but he opens his mouth instead and I can see his teeth, sharp like knives as they sink into the red fur of the fox. I don’t even know why, but I let out a small moan as I watch him drink, his eyes shut and his figure hunched over the animal. I move closer, my tail still wrapped around him, then I touch his back, my hand sliding down in a soothing way.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper and I truly believe it. His eyes open wide and he stares at me, confused and surprised, a little drop of blood trickling down his lips.

I wish I could tell him that I love him. I wish the words would leave my mouth. I’ve tried so many times and they always get stuck. I’ve tried to show him, to make him understand and sometimes I think that he does.

He’s told me, more than once, and every time he does, I feel my heart expanding a little bit more (because it makes me so happy), and then clenching in my chest (because I want to tell him too, but somehow, I still can’t).

I rest my forehead on his shoulder and I feel his fingers slide through my hair.

“Are you okay?” he asks, dropping the fox and holding me instead.

“Yes, I…I…” bloody words. It’s just three of them and I only ever manage to say one. I grit my teeth and press my body against his, grabbing his clothes, pulling him closer. “I…”

“I know, love,” he says softly, “I know.”

**Baz**

I think he’s crying and he’s holding me so tight.

Sometimes I allow myself to believe that he’s actually trying to tell me that he loves me. That every time he struggles to get the words out and then gets so frustrated that he cries, his face buried in the crook of my neck, he is actually trying to get those three little bloody words out. They are so hard to say and I know it. It took me long enough to say them, but once I started, I found out that I couldn’t stop. So I tell him more often than I thought I would. Sometimes I tell him when he’s asleep, because I know it makes him happy when he hears them, but I also feel him tensing up. And it doesn’t matter that I told him I’m not expecting to hear him say it back, because I know he still wants to.

“Let’s get you home, love,” I say, placing a kiss on his forehead.

We walk to the nearest Tube station and I hold his hand, my grip loose to allow him to let go whenever he wants to, since there are people around in the street. He still holds onto me, his eyes meeting mine with a soft expression I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.

I can’t wait to get home and just be with him.

We get the tube and he sits next to me, closer than necessary, resting his head on my shoulder. A man wearing a suit stares at us, frowning, and I give him the most incinerating glare of my repertoire. Simon ignores him and holds my hand, his fingers interlaced with mine, so warm.

**Simon**

Sometimes it feels like I’ve spent years just falling apart, shattering into smaller and smaller pieces, until I was just a complete mess.

Shep once told me that sometimes you have to break first, in order to pull yourself together. Maybe he’s right. But it still feels like I’m a puzzle without the instructions box. I know if I put the pieces back together, a picture will eventually appear. But I still don’t know what the picture will look like. Whether I’ll like it or not. Whether Baz will like it and will still want to be with me.

But I still have to try and do my best, don’t I?

**Baz**

“I love you,” I tell him, because I can’t keep it in any longer, “I love you so much.”

He smiles at me, still holding my hand, his eyes shining bright.

**Simon**

I’ve been to Baz’s place several times, always when Fiona is not around (she tried to give me the Talk a few months ago and I’ve been avoiding her ever since). The flat is full of her stuff, scattered around the living room and on the kitchen counter.

“For fuck’s sake,” Baz says, irritated, as we step foot inside, “she left this morning and she didn’t even do the washing up!”

“It’s ok, it feels homely like this,” I say with a shrug.

We take our shoes off and I help him tidy up, because I know that it bugs him and he won’t be able to relax otherwise.

“I’ll put my bag in your room,” I say and he tells me to go ahead from the kitchen.

I like his bedroom. It reminds me of our room at Watford, because it smells like him and it’s so neat. It has a calming effect on me. I find one of my hoodies, nicely folded on the bed, next to his pillow. When did he get it?

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks from behind me, his hand tentatively touching the small of my back. He sees me looking at my hoodie and his cheeks turn the loveliest shade of pink (I love it when he has enough blood in him to blush).

“I-I…” he says and I grin, because I’ve just made Baz Pitch stutter, “listen, it’s nice and warm and it smells like you. I just took it because I was stuck at home preparing for my exams last week and I missed you. You can have it back-“

I don’t even let him finish, my lips are on him in an instant, covering his mouth with a smile. My wings wrap around his back, drawing him closer, and my hands are on him as he lets out a low moan into my mouth.

“You can keep it,” I whisper as I leave a trail of kisses behind his ear, down his neck, feeling him so close to me, warming up under my touch. His hips rock against mine and I can feel that he’s hard (his cock springs up to life really fast when he’s just fed) and I’m getting there too. I hold his hips gently, feeling his length rubbing against mine. Soft expensive fabric against rough jeans.

**Baz**

I’m losing control too fast and I don’t want him to panic. He’s getting so much better at this, at letting me touch him and touching me back. But I still want to take things slow, to give him the time he needs.

“We should get you into the tub,” I say between kisses, “get that bath started.”

He hums against my mouth.

He still kisses me like it’s the end of the world.

“Okay,” he says, “we still have time for this later.”

I feel myself blush and he smiles at me, his fingers tracing my cheeks.

“I’ll get you a towel,” I mutter, trying to regain some composure and to think cooling thoughts, anything but his hot mouth and his strong hands on me.

I give him a towel and he starts taking things out of his bag. He’s packed a lot of clothes (several t-shirts and at least 3 different pairs of jeans) and my mind starts to wonder. Because Simon Snow is not the type of person who packs more than necessary.

Is he planning to stay for more than one night?

I try not to get my hopes up and focus on the bath, filling the tub and getting the bath bomb from my bag.

He joins me and he’s just wearing a t-shirt and a pair of boxer-briefs. I try not to look, but my eyes have a mind of their own and they land on his legs, on his strong arms, on freckles and moles. I’ve mapped them all, but I still need to manage to kiss every single one of his moles. One day.

I throw the bath bomb into the water and it fizzes as it dissolves.

“Why did you do it before I got in?” he asks, curiously looking at the water as it turns orange and it starts smelling like spices, like cinnamon and patchouli.

“Because I forgot to ask if there was anything inside.”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Dev once used a bath bomb that had glitter inside,” I reply with a grimace, “he got it all stuck to his hair, especially down there. Niall said it was like blowing a unicorn for a few days.”

“Gross!” he says laughing and then he shakes his head, “I’ll never be able to look at Dev the same way.”

“Okay,” I say, “I’ll leave you to it. I have a bit of reading to do. You enjoy your bath.”

**Simon**

He closes the door behind him and I undress, dumping my clothes on the floor (they need washing anyway). I sink in and it’s so hot and smells ridiculously good.

I take a deep breath and my wings and tail appear, as I relax and let my magic flow.

Now what?

It’s all really lovely and relaxing, but what the hell am I supposed to do?

**Baz**

“Baaaaz!” he calls me from the bathroom and I open the door, peeking inside.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“Come in here,” he says, his hand spraying water on the floor as he gestures for me to come closer, “what am I supposed to do now?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, moving closer to the tub, trying not to look inside.

“What do you normally do in the bath?” he asks, perplexed.

“I just relax; sometimes I read a book or listen to music,” I reply. He seems to mull things over for a few seconds and then he grabs my hand.

“Why don’t you come inside and keep me company?” he asks sheepishly, “it’s your bath bomb, after all.”

He’s not this adventurous very often, so I start undressing before he changes his mind. He first looks away, but then he seems to change his mind and he leans into the tub, his eyes landing on me, sliding over my body as I take my clothes off, slowly.

“Enjoying the show, Snow?” I tease him and he smirks at me (he’s such a menace) and his cheeks start colouring when he notices that I’m hard, a hungry look in his blue eyes as they focus on my dick.

I climb over the edge of the tub and sink in, sitting opposite him. It’s a tight squeeze, especially with his wings sticking out, but it means that we’re touching all over. The water rises to our chest, just below my armpits. There’s a light orange foam on the surface, so it’s not easy to see him underneath. I tie my hair in a loose bun and rest my neck on the edge.

His feet are tucked under my bum, brushing against my bollocks in a pleasant way. My legs are circling his hips, but my knees are bent and I try to readjust them to get into a more comfortable position. He grabs me under my knees and shifts closer and then leaves his hands there, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on my skin as his tail coils around my ankle.

I close my eyes and sigh, trying to relax, feeling his skin against mine, my body warming up nicely in the hot water, my dick still hard and so close to his legs.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice low.

“You,” I reply, because I’m shameless.

“Are you hard?” he whispers, his voice quivering ever so slightly.

“You know I am,” I say, my eyes still closed. I wonder if he’s blushing. I wonder if he’s looking at me there.

His hands still on my legs and then they slide down my hips, the water splashing as he leans closer.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“You know you don’t have to ask,” I murmur, and I’m about to point out that he’s already touching me, when I feel his fingers curling around my length, touching me gingerly at first, but then more confidently, his thumb swiping on the slit and moving my foreskin up and down.

“Do you ever wank while you’re taking a bath?” he asks, stroking me slowly, painfully slowly. I let out a small groan and I open my eyes, just a fraction, to see him looking at me. Crowley, he’s so stunning, with his red cheeks, flushed chest and pupils blown wide. My eyes wander down, under the water, to his visibly hard cock. I close my eyes again.

“Hmm,” I mumble (but it sounds suspiciously like a moan), “sometimes.”

His grip tightens and he strokes me a little bit faster and this time I can’t help but whimper, because we haven’t done this in a while (bloody exams), so I’m desperate for some kind of release.

“What do you usually think about, when you do it?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“You,” I say, after a few seconds, “always you.”

He leans closer and the water splashes out of the tub, but I don’t care, because his lips are on my neck, kissing, licking and sucking.

“You’re going to make me come,” I whisper, my eyes opening as I lean towards him, “I’ll ruin your bath.”

“Let’s get out then,” he says, his lips on mine, his tongue exploring my mouth. He groans and keeps on touching me under the water, then his hands and his lips are suddenly gone and he just stares at me.

“I want you,” he whispers, his lips just a couple of inches from mine. I nod, stupidly, because I always want him anyway and he stands up, spraying water everywhere as he gets out of the tub. He helps me get out and then hands me my bathrobe.

**Simon**

I feel a bit awkward, all of a sudden, with a towel around my waist and a very obvious tent caused by my super excited cock. He’s no better than me, his cheeks flushed and his skin so lovely and warm. I take his hand and lead him to his bedroom, walking barefoot on the cream carpet. It’s just the two of us, but I still shut the door, because I feel safer this way.

He left the lights on earlier and my fingers hesitate for a few seconds on the switch. I normally want them off, but I really want to see him today. I feel the burning need to see him lose his cool, melting in my arms, to see his face when he comes. Because I miss out on it, every time I want him to touch me in the dark.

“We can just leave the bedside lamp on, if you want. It’s very faint,” he suggests, reading my mind, and I nod, glad for the compromise.

My fingers are shaking as I take my towel off and then I move closer to him, tugging at his bathrobe.

I can’t keep my hands off him and he can’t keep his eyes off me.

“What do you want?” I ask, undressing him, kissing his neck and sucking on his soft skin (I always try to mark him as mine, even though it never lasts long). I slide the bathrobe down his arms, leaving him naked and exposed in front of me. “Christ, you look so beautiful.”

I take his hand and drag him to the bed, lying down on his pillows (he has way too many) and making him straddle me, my hands possessively on his hips, digging into his soft flesh.

“What do you want?” I repeat, because he never tells me and I desperately need to know today. Because he’s always so good to me and lets me lead and take control every single time. But I need him to tell me what he actually wants from me.

“Anything,” he whispers, his lips meeting mine, his hands daring to slide down my neck, to my chest, circling a nipple.

“You need to be more specific, darling.”

He shivers, but his body is so warm under my skin, thanks to the bath and to my hands all over him. My tail automatically curls around his calf (it has a mind of its own).

“I want anything you’re happy to give me,” he says, his eyes desperate.

“I…” I swallow and bite on my lower lip, “I want you to tell me this time.”

I squeeze his arse and then my right hand moves to the front, rubbing his dick leisurely, making him let out a needy little sound as I pull at his cock a little bit faster. He doesn’t seem to know what to say, his eyes roaming on my body, looking at my neck, focusing on my Adam’s apple bobbing on my chin.

“I shouldn’t have bought that bath bomb,” he suddenly says, “you smell all wrong.”

I get some lube from his bedside table (it’s always super neat and I know where he keeps his stuff) and pour some on my hand and on his. I lick his lips and he sighs, then I take his hand and place it on my cock and he starts stroking me too, his rhythm matching mine.

“What do you mean about the way I smell?” I ask, before biting the soft skin under his ear and enjoying the sounds he makes. He’s always so vocal when I touch him and I love making him shudder and gasp, moan loudly because of the way I make him feel.

“I like your smell,” he whimpers, “it turns me on so much. Your rich buttery smell. Freshly made popcorn, cinnamon buns and bacon. I can almost taste it.”

And that’s when it hits me.

He wants to taste me.

He wants to bite me.

But he will never admit it and he’s too afraid that I will say yes and that he won’t be able to stop. But I want him to. It feels like one of these boundaries that pull us apart, like one of these walls that we’ve built between us and that we’re both desperately trying to destroy.

“Bite me,” I say, “bite me, Baz.”

His eyes open wide and his hand stills.

“Have you lost your mind?” he asks, but I don’t give him a chance to argue, my lips reclaiming his, hand moving faster between his legs.

“You never tell me what you want,” I say against his lips, “I want you to have whatever you wish tonight.”

“It’s too dangerous,” he protests, his eyes closing as he bites his lower lip.

“You know it’s not,” I argue, cupping his balls and rolling them in the palm of my hand just the way he likes, “you’ve fed less than an hour ago and you won’t turn me anyway. I want you to have my blood.”

“Simon…” he whimpers.

“Tell me what you need, love.”

His brows furrow and my hands move faster on his cock, pulling the foreskin over the head, twisting it.

“I want your hands on me,” he whispers, “I want your mouth on my dick, I want mine on yours. I want to kiss every single one of your moles. I want to feel your fingers inside me and I want you to fuck me so badly that sometimes it keeps me up at night.”

“Yes,” I murmur, kissing his neck, sucking and biting, “what else, darling?”

“I want you to fuck me deep and hard, so that I can still feel it the day after. I want to fuck you too,” his eyes are still closed and I can see a tear running down his cheek, so I kiss it away, “I want to bite you. I think about it all the time, day and night.”

“Do it,” I say and he finally opens his eyes, his pupils wide and his mouth fuller. His fangs have popped and he tries to turn as soon as he realises, but I grab his chin and kiss him hard on the lips.

“Come on, I want it as much as you do and you know it,” I say and then I bare my neck for him, leaning onto the pillows, “bite me.”

“I can’t,” he makes a desperate noise at the back of his throat that sounds like a whimper and then his lips are on my neck, his tongue licks a long strip from my collar bone to my ear and I let out a low groan. His hand grabs my cock and starts stroking it again and I do the same. We’re both quite close to coming and I want his fangs in me when I do.

“I’m going to fuck you,” I tell him, without even thinking, “you’re going to bite me and then I’ll fuck you, slow and deep.”

My slick fingers leave his cock and they move to his arse, spreading his cheeks and making him hold his breath. I’ve never done this before, but I feel brave enough to try, so I slide my index over his skin and let it brush against his entrance.

“Fuck, Simon,” he whines, “I’m not going to bite you.”

“I’ll fuck you until all you can say is my name,” I whisper, “I’ll start slow, but then I won’t be able to control myself and I’ll pound hard into you, making you scream.”

I slide my finger inside him, slowly, and he closes his eyes, his mouth open and his brows furrowed in pleasure. It’s so tight that I wonder how I’m going to be able to put my dick there, but the thought makes me even harder. I slide my finger in and out, making him gasp.

“You’ll make all of those wonderful sounds that you do when you’re about to come,” I say, sliding a second finger inside, “and then you will beg me to touch your cock.”

“Not going to bite- _aaah_ ,” he hides his face in the crook of my neck, his lips pressing kisses along my jaw.

“I’ll come inside you, so hard, and fill you up with my come,” I whisper.

I don’t even know where these obscenities are coming from, but they seem to work. Baz is so hard and he’s panting, his sharp teeth grazing against my skin, a desperate needy sound escaping his lips as his cock sides against mine. I grab both of our dicks with my free hand and start pumping them together, dragging his foreskin back and swiping the precome on both of us.

“And then I’m going to let you put your fingers inside me,” I continue, “to get me nice and ready for you. And you will tease me to no end, because I know what you’re like. And then you’ll finally fuck me.”

I’m so hard that I think I’m going to come any minute. I never even thought I was capable of dirty talk and it turns me on so much. Baz seems quite close too, judging from the way he’s panting and rocking his hips against mine.

“I love you,” he whispers, “I love you so much.”

“Do it then,” I murmur in his ear, “fucking bite me, Baz.”

And then he finally gives in and sinks his fangs into my skin.

It hurts like hell at first, when the skin breaks and I bite down a scream. But then the pain quickly dissolves and I feel the most intense pleasure that I’ve ever felt in my life, like a shiver running down my entire body. I feel it down to my toes, like my whole skin is alive and burning. There’s a loud moan and I don’t even know if it’s coming from me or from Baz, who is holding me so close and tight. I see an explosion of stars behind my closed eyelids and I just let the pleasure wash over me.

**Baz**

I never thought that this would happen, not even in my wildest dreams. That I would get to taste his delicious blood and that it would be even better than what I had imagined. It’s so rich and delicious, like the essence of Simon and I close my eyes for a moment to feel it on my tongue and down my throat, into my body.

As soon as the taste of his blood fills my mouth, I can hear him gasp and a loud moan escapes his mouth. I was expecting him to start thrashing and fighting, but he stops moving instantly and goes limp in my arms. His hand stills on my dick and his fingers slip out of me. Only his tail is still wrapped possessively around me (it has a mind of its own).

Simon’s making the most obscene sounds and he suddenly comes all over himself and doesn’t seem to stop, his orgasm so powerful that it’s making him shake.

I concentrate on his little whimpers and moans, on his blood, so warm and delicious on my tongue and I start touching my dick, harder and faster, until I come all over Simon, with a deep groan.

I don’t want to stop drinking, because it’s too good, but I don’t want to hurt him, so I reluctantly withdraw my fangs and then I lick the small trail of blood that trickles down his neck. I’m not going to let it go to waste, not even a single droplet.

Simon’s panting in my arms. He looks completely debauched, all covered in come (mine and his), his cheeks slightly flushed and mouth open.

“Fucking hell, Baz,” he says, “that was mind-blowing.”

“Good?” I ask, because I’m worried that I might have hurt him, that I might have taken too much.

“It was amazing,” he says, out of breath, “the best orgasm of my life. I still feel all…” he waves his hand and shudders, a small sigh escaping his lips.

I smile at him and take one last look at his relaxed body under mine, before I reach for my wand.

“Let me give you a clean, love,” I say and cast a **” _Clean as a whistle_!”** on his belly and hands, because I doubt that he will have the strength to take a shower.

I lie down next to him and he moves so that he’s facing me, his fingers sliding into my hair as his eyes lock with mine.

“Thank you,” I say softly, “thank you for giving me this.”

“I love you,” he whispers, his eyes fond and his fingers so soft on my skin. And then his eyes open wide and a grin appears on his face, “I said it! I finally managed to say it!”

My eyes fill with tears and I hide my face with my hand, but he brushes it away, wiping the tears away.

“Sorry it took me so long,” he says, kissing my cheeks as I sob, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I love you.”

“I was so scared that you didn’t,” I reply and he says it again and again, whispering that he loves me into my ears, kissing my forehead and moving closer, his warm body pressed flush against mine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, “all flushed and pink. We should do this more often. You should bite me at least once a week.”

“No way,” I shake my head, “it was a one off.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Baz. We both loved it and you know it.”

I sigh and start playing with his curls, as his hands move along my naked body, gentle and soft as a feather along my side, down my hips.

“I mean what I said earlier,” he says, his voice low, “I’m going to fuck you.”

“You are?” I ask, surprised. I thought he was just saying it to make me bite him.

“Not tonight, though,” he says sheepishly, “I’m knackered. But I’ve packed enough clothes for the whole week.”

I smile as I pull him closer for another kiss.

“Come here, you absolute nightmare.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make me extra happy.


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